My therapist swears I'm capable of anything. She swears that my kindness doesn't have to equate weakness and that I'm deserving of a life that makes me happy. She swears I'm so much stronger than I think I am.
I try to believe her. As I've tried to believe others. I tell myself that finally crying again is a good thing. That breaking down in front of people is a sign of growth, you know? Like I'm breaking all the way down so I can build back up. I'm trying. Not swallowing the tears or leaving the room because I can't allow people to watch me crumble. Allowing myself to sob openly in front of others. Crying in the waiting room. Starting to cry again before my therapist can even shut the door of her office behind us.
And I'm crying now for no reason other than that the tears want to come and I'm not going to stop them. Even if I can't place what's causing them to flow. It's odd, I didn't cry for years. And when I did "cry" it was more about my eyes filling and nothing more. I know this is a good thing. I know it's the release I need right now. I know it's my mind and body working to release all the shit I've pushed down or don't want to deal with.
Crying for my mother. Crying for what's been done to my body. Crying for what I've done to it myself. Crying because I'm scared. Crying because I feel so lonely it makes me ache. Crying for the life I thought I'd have by now but failed to create. Crying for the years I've wasted. Crying because it hurts to change – to do things differently. Crying crying crying.
But I won't fight back; I won't try to stop them. Because they need to flow. And because I need to let go of everything that causes them.